


Agent 982

by ratonzita



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesiac Derek, Enjoy the sweet angst, Happy Ending, Loosely inspired by American Assassin movie, M/M, Major character death temporary, Smut, badass stiles, blood sweat and tears, don't hate me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 11:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30071628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratonzita/pseuds/ratonzita
Summary: There had never been a moment in time where Stiles pictured himself ever leaving the pack or making a name for himself without them. Much else without Derek alive.But Derek's death turned his life upside down.OrHow Stiles became a hot, badass agent and recovered his purpose in life.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 188





	Agent 982

It was supposed to be a celebration the day it happened. Stiles and Derek had been dating for six months, there hadn’t been strange incidents in town, and they were finally graduating high school.

Stiles had jokingly thought Beacon Hills and the Nemeton had been quiet as a gift to all the trouble the pack had been through since freshman year. Sometimes he thought it was _too_ quiet. Something had to be underway, right? However, it was only his post-nogitsune disorder as nothing really happened. They were finally okay. It was all regular human problems, natural disasters, and crimes. Nothing the pack had to involve themselves in.

They were having a bonfire in the woods; triple checked for safety. Everybody was there: Scott, Kira, Malia, Liam, Hayden, Mason, Cory, Lydia, Parrish, Derek, Stiles, the sheriff, Mamma McCall, Braeden, Chris Argent, both Yukimura parents, and even Deaton. They grilled steaks and sausages and roasted their marshmallows. They sang, danced, joked, and laughed. It was all their little moments of joy gathered closely and bursting out. When it was getting hushed and late, the grownups left. The couples gathered closer and talked quietly between them. Derek took Stiles’ hand softly in his and guided him further into the woods.

All the way, he stole kisses that left Stiles breathless. Derek was feeling playful and Stiles gladly played along. Once Derek knew they wouldn’t be heard by the pack, he started to slowly take Stiles apart. With each kiss, Stiles felt the air getting heavier; with each touch, he was left trembling with desire.

However, Derek hadn’t gone far when he heard something near them. Too close for comfort. Too quiet for him to had listened before. They were almost on them.

“Hey, come back,” Stiles whined and panted, trying to draw his lips back in.

“Don’t say a word,” Derek whispered.

Stiles frowned, noticing Derek’s tensed position and attentive eyes. The mood had completely changed. He was searching for something in the woods. Something Stiles wouldn’t be able to see no matter how much he squinted in the dark.

Suddenly, Derek pushed Stiles down. A shift in the air and a hole in the tree told Stiles they had been shot at. He tried to push Derek away, stand up and run but Derek wouldn’t let him.

“No. Don’t move.” Derek raised himself, poised to run and jump at the intruder but didn’t. He froze.

“Derek?” Stiles called softly. His wolf never froze. Derek stood up slowly, announcing his moves beforehand. Stiles was alarmed and still couldn’t see the enemy but followed his lead.

“Don’t say a word, Stiles, please.”

Derek never begged. Not even in bed. Stiles realized either they were in deep shit or someone had cast a spell on him and they were in an alternate universe. Both were possible. Derek pushed Stiles back to the tree, briefly glanced at his forehead, and schooled his expression. Yet Stiles saw something he’d never seen on him before. Fear. He gulped and counted his breaths. Derek turned around and raised his hands.

“We have done no wrong or harm. Announce yourselves and your business, so we can discuss a good outcome for both parties.”

Stiles tried to understand the situation. Why would Derek act like that? There hadn’t been an enemy before that they’d face this way. They had to be outnumbered. Derek could have howled for the pack despite the number of enemies. He wasn’t doing that. He also wasn’t trying to thin them down. He hadn’t even given Stiles a slow run-through of what the fuck was going on. And he was scared. Derek was never scared. Or, at least, whenever he was, he never showed it during the event, but afterward whispered into Stiles’ skin unsaid words and held him tighter.

“I can speak for my alpha. I am his second-in-command. By stating your business with me, we can reach an agreement that will be respected by my pack.”

He lowered his hands a bit and gave a step forward. It was the wrong move. Derek turned as fast as he could and covered Stiles with his body. The silent bullets rained down on them without mercy. Some missed and went into the tree. Most hit Derek directly. He grunted with each. A strip of dark blood landed on Stiles’ neck. His eyes flashed. His claws too were dug deep inside the tree, by Stiles’ shoulders. His fangs showed themselves. Derek couldn’t move and attack them. Stiles was defenseless against bullets.

Eventually, they stopped. They must have left too because as Derek gave into the pain and fell, nothing else happened. Stiles tried to carry his weight but Derek was already unconscious and dragged him down. There were rivers of blood flowing from his mouth. Stiles held in the tears and turned Derek to inspect his back. He almost threw up at the sight. It was destroyed. The damage had left his bones visible.

Stiles didn’t let himself lose it. He couldn’t lose it right then. There would be time later for that after Derek healed. Because they were surviving this. They always survived. He steadied his breathing once more and laid Derek’s head on his knees. It was time to get a closer look at his back. Stiles’ systematic and logical brain took over. Derek was probably unconscious due to the pain. However, Stiles couldn’t find signs of his healing kicking in. He smelled the wounds.

“Of fucking course,” he growled. He took out his cellphone as fast as he could, minding Derek. He dialed Kira. Scott would never pick up on time.

“Hey, Stiles, where you two disap-?”

“Find me and Derek. Bring Deaton and wolfsbane. ASAP.” He hung up.

Stiles could feel a panic attack trying to wedge his way in. He closed tightly his eyes until he saw stars and kept it at bay. Not the time. Later. After Derek healed. He repeated it like a mantra. It kept him somewhat sane.

Derek’s breathing became erratically. He was slowly shivering too. Stiles had never felt so helpless and weak before. He knew it’d take them a little bit, even with their speed, but he was so sure they’d get there on time. They’d always managed to save the day.

Not this time. Derek stopped breathing.

“No. Derek! No, no, no. This can’t be happening! _Derek._ Derek, please wake up. Wake up!”

Stiles turned Derek. Fuck the wounds. Derek needed to breathe again. He gave him CPR. It was silly to be practicing first-aid to a werewolf. The thought had previously made Stiles laugh until his belly hurt. Now not so much. Tears were freely flowing.

Stiles was still trying to resuscitate him when the cavalry arrived. Scott fell heavily next to him and dragged him away, making way for the druid. Stiles couldn’t stop watching. Deaton checked Derek for vitals, took a look at his wounds, and did nothing else. He stood up. Someone screamed. Stiles realized it was him. He clawed at Scott with his bitten nails, drawing blood, until he let him go to Derek’s body.

“DEREK. NO, NO, NO. THIS CAN’T BE FUCKING HAPPENING. No…” Stiles sobbed uncontrollably. He held tightly the dark bloodied cadaver of his lover, his everything. “No. Derek. We are survivors. We survive. It’s what we do. Please… please open your eyes. Just- just let me see your eyes. It’d be all right. You’ll be all right. Please… PLEASE.”

He didn’t know how much time had passed. Eventually, his father’s arms tried to pull him away like they did when he had been a kid and his mom’s sickness had taken her. He no longer had a voice to scream with, nor the strength to fight him off. He was numbed, lost in a heady haze. His father’s words didn’t reach him. He could only see Derek’s lifeless body.

Scott and Liam carried the body back to the clinic. Deaton was making some calls and Scott stepped out to make one of his own. Everybody hugged him but he didn’t react. He couldn’t stop staring at Derek. At the chest that wasn’t moving. At the bloodied mess that was his clothes. At closed eyes that weren’t opening. At the arm hanging from the metallic table. Lifeless.

When they were on the second round of hugging him and trying to make him talk, he shook them off and went into the bathroom. He looked like hell. He was drenched in dried blood. He thought of washing his hands, trying to get rid of it. Instead, he punched the mirror.

It wasn’t going to end like this. He wouldn’t let it. He wasn’t going to do nothing. Those hunters must have been professionals given their weapon selection. And they killed the wrong werewolf. Stiles’ werewolf. They awoke an inexhaustible, berserk beast.

A deadly plan started forming in his head. He couldn’t act impulsively. Not now. He’d prepare himself and end those motherfuckers in the worst ways possible. If he had learned something by deciphering Peter, Kate, Gerard, and every other psychopath that dared attack them, it was how to kill people. And he had a stronger reason than greed or power. He had love. He would avenge Derek.

The cold murderous look in his eyes would even scare the nogitsune.

*

The first two steps were easy to achieve within his timeline.

First, he asked Chris Argent to train him. He claimed he wished to no longer be a defenseless part of the pack. It was believable. His dad even encouraged him to be able to protect himself in the future. The pack welcomed the distraction from his depressive spiral.

He amazed all of them with his focus, determination, dedication, and rapid progress. Before, he’d been a pain in the ass for their enemies because of the way his brain could conjure up genius plans of attack with Lydia. After six months of continuous training, his body too was a lethal, dangerous foe.

The second step was asking Danny to teach him how to hack better. In less than a month though, he managed to surpass him. It seemed like his brain had entirely awakened its potential after Derek’s loss.

Next in his plan was to beat Lydia in every mind game possible. This was the tricky part. He could say all he wanted to the pack that it was a way to distract himself and not think, bypassing with flying colors their supernatural lying detectors. Deceiving Lydia herself was troublesome. She was too smart and knowledgeable.

However, if she figured him out, she didn’t say. She challenged him and pushed him to think of multiple scenarios before the games even begun. Two months later, he could defeat her with little problem.

What he didn’t account for was the part where his dad figured him out. He caught him during a late-night when he was going out for his morning shift.

“I know what you’re doing. I also know I can’t stop you. I’ll be here afterward, son.” He patted his head and hugged him. He went out and stopped one more second. “Lydia says to give them hell.”

Fortunately, the sheriff missed Stiles’ smirk. Hell would be paradise compared to what Stiles planned for them.

*

All hunters were warned not to step foot in Beacon Hills ever again unless they were called upon by Chris Argent himself. He also warned to beware of Red’s fury if they dared to enter either way. Chris was glad to hear that the hunters guilty of Derek’s death had become outcasts after they reported what they’d done. Therefore, disappearing completely was out of their possibilities. However, unless they were dead, Stiles would always find them. The hunters had become the hunted.

Stiles told the pack he needed time away from Beacon Hills. And it was true. He couldn’t handle turning around a corner and be hit with memories of Derek, alive and well, when he no longer walked by his side. Naturally, he failed to tell them his real plans.

Chris figured them out a couple of days later when he got a notification from one of his old contacts. He geared up, intending to catch up with Stiles and stop him or help him—he wasn’t sure which. Although, when he went to the sheriff, he was halted at once. Of the pack, only Malia too managed to join two and two. She would have done something similar. By Lydia’s request, she kept quiet. None of the others would completely understand Stiles’ motives, much less Scott. He was too good of heart to even conceive it.

Within a few months, Chris realized all of the guilty party were no longer alive. He hadn’t asked for details, plausible deniability, and all that, but he knew they hadn’t gone peacefully. The quiver in his contacts’ voice was enough to tell him Stiles hadn’t been kind. Every time he ended those calls, he’d get a terrifying chill. He couldn’t begin to imagine what Stiles had done, yet he knew it was the stuff of torturous nightmares. Stiles was well versed in those. Not only for all the research he’d most likely done, but also for all he had survived. And humans were the most terrorizing capable creatures that had ever roamed the earth. Add to that Stiles’ genius mind?

Yeah. Chris was glad he didn’t know how he planned each death.

*

Stiles came back after almost a year. Scott knew he’d be forever changed. Even though Derek hadn’t been his first love interest, it had been as strong or more. Scott understood completely what it was like to lose it to death. He noticed Stiles trying to make himself stronger and recognized it as a coping mechanism. When he told him of his trip, not knowing where or when it’d end, he encouraged the distraction of all the training and tiring deeds he’d worked himself into for a year. When he came back, he welcomed him with all his heart. He never asked how it went or brought up the subject. At some time or another, they’d talk about it.

However, after a couple of months, Stiles’ forced happy attitude was too much. Scott understood that he was trying and could smell and see in how much pain Stiles truly was. He had no idea how to make it better.

“There’s no way to make him feel better, Scott.” Lydia scowled at him and sighed. “You probably think it’s like Allison for you. It’s not. I was Stiles’ Allison. Derek was something deeper. It was definitive for him. It was the love of his life. No one else will ever come close to Derek’s ghost. He won’t even try to look for someone else.”

Scott couldn’t understand it. Not entirely. He knew it was a different situation than his, but he believed Stiles would be able to move on. Like him.

“No, Scott. Stiles will never move on. That’s not how he loves. Mark my words, Scott. Someday you’ll think he has finally managed it, but he won’t. He’ll just get better at not showing it.”

Some days later though, Stiles’ scent changed into something akin to excitement.

“Dude, you’ll never believe what happened.” Stiles gestured wildly. “It’ll blow your mind. Remember when we talked about colleges and how I wasn’t sure what to choose and so? Well, apparently, there’s like a supernatural CIA and they want me!”

“Dude! That’s-”

“Wait, wait! There’s more! They’ll pay for any studies I’ll need or would like to take. I can study Criminal Psychology in the most expensive college and they’ll pay for everything!”

“That’s really cool, man!” Scott was genuinely happy until he realized what it meant. “Wait, this means you’re leaving… for good.”

Stiles shrugged and sat down next to him. “Well, yeah… I don’t really like the idea of leaving you and my dad or the pack… But…” He gulped and released a shaky breath. “I can’t live here, Scotty. He’s everywhere I go,” he whispered, then cleared his throat. “I need- I need a fresh place. Somewhere I can maybe think of him and not see his corpse in my arms in every step I take.” He stared at his hands for longer than necessary. “Joining the supernatural CIA will keep me occupied.”

Scott hugged him tightly.

“Besides, you could always give me an official call and I’ll bring down the heavies.” Stiles tried to laugh off the sadness and pain.

Giving the news to his father was harder. The sheriff understood there was nothing he could do to help his son heal, short of reviving Derek. And Deaton had warned them it was a disaster that always ended in bad results for everyone involved. Stiles had barely started a life with Derek when he was stolen from him. At least the sheriff had been able to build something and hold on to it when his wife passed. Stiles didn’t have that. Therefore, this job could be a good thing for him. A task where he would feel needed, where he could help others on a big scale, and where he could help himself to start living again.

*

Stiles entered the CIA’s X Division with high recommendations. The X Division focused on the unknown dimensions for the fortunate—or poor, Stiles couldn’t decide which—humans that had ever witnessed the supernatural, as well as helping creatures in dire situations.

He knew this decision would pain his dad deeply but he also knew there was no way he’d be able to live a somewhat okay life in Beacon Hills. Furthermore, the CIA was funding his university studies. Stiles needed a change of pace or he’d go mad with the emptiness he felt inside. Being possessed by the nogitsune had been child’s play compared to this void—and he’d been forced to murder Allison and hurt his pack.

Stiles was considered a rising prodigy. Even though he’d been specially contacted and recruited by the higher-ups—given his year of hunting the hunters—, he proved them his excellence. His brain could conjure up the best tactics and strategies. No one compared to him in focus. Every day, he improved his combatting abilities and refined his shooting skills. He even managed to finish his double major in Criminal Psychology and Criminology with a master's in Forensic Science and a specialization in supernatural creatures in half the time required. They hadn’t had much new to teach him that he hadn’t already learned on his own. What took more time was becoming knowledgeable in all supernatural creatures that existed. He still made it.

He was one of the best agents CIA X Division had ever seen.

Although everyone there had had close encounters with the supernatural and lost somebody once or was a supernatural creature of their own ready to make a better place for their fellow species and race, they had lives outside the office. Stiles didn’t. He tried once and drove himself into a panic attack. The natural result was how good he was at his job. His missions had a 100% rate of success. Every apparent unpredicted situation was easily solved as he always had contingency plans.

He preferred to work alone but was polite and driven whenever he worked with a team. They liked him, even when he was a mystery. He wasn’t arrogant. He obeyed orders, and when he felt the need to discuss a different perspective on a course of action or an argument, he ended convincing the other party of his better plan without boasting about it.

When he was still part of the small pawns within the organization, there was no doubt of his capability or the secured career he had there. However, he hadn’t been testing boundaries. His curiosity had been quite tamed with all his studying. Until he heard of a supernatural witness protection network that aided both supernatural creatures and humans cut in crossfires. The source was legit. One of his superiors told him it was the next step in the security clearance. He would have left it alone if his curiosity hadn’t shown itself for the first time in years.

He wanted to know if his pack had made it to the list of prospects at least. What he found, though, was heartbreaking. They had been observed, yes, and deemed suitable for managing things on their own, as they obviously had done. He was about to close the file when he noticed a heavy file titled ‘Hale’.

Reading the name brought back all the pain his beloved had suffered in life, as well as his horrible untimely death. Stiles dealt better with the memories and the emptiness these days. He only cried himself to sleep three nights a week. Steadying his breathing, Stiles figured he could find out something that could at least give Cora closure.

He still felt terribly guilty and responsible for Derek’s death. Back then he’d been weak. Foolish to think that his pack would always save him if necessary. He hadn’t thought much about how he could help protect them, beyond wolfsbane saving, mountain ash, and research. He was the human token. Now he knew different. Now he was a weapon that aided others. He didn’t regret killing mercilessly those hunters that stole Derek from him. Fortunately, that kind of coldness hadn’t been needed in the agency so far, nor would show itself as nothing would strike him as deeply again.

Stiles shook his head and stared again at the file. It was most likely about Cora’s family. He didn’t have the security level clearance but that wasn’t about to stop him. The notes and files about the Hales history and territory in Beacon Hills were long. Far more important, though, was one of the top files. It hinted at a safe location.

Stiles frowned. The only living Hale was Cora and she was in South America. Either X Division put her there or it was somebody else. Maybe he’d be able to reunite Cora with someone that’d help her heal. Someone other than creepy undead Peter.

Stiles clicked on it and everything stopped. Derek’s scowling face was looking straight at him.

He couldn’t breathe. His heart moved at a slow rate, unsure it wanted to keep on beating. His brain stopped reacting until old habits took over. Numbed, he downloaded the complete file, encrypted it, saved it in an untraceable USB, and pocketed it.

On automatic, he sparred with a couple of agents, filled some paperwork, and worked a normal slow day without any odd behavior. If anything, people told him he was paler than usual. He answered he wasn’t feeling too hot and was advised by several to take a week of rest. He hadn’t taken days off for five years, except for the obligatory ones like Christmas. Maybe it was time, he nodded. He asked for them and, given his clean record, the same day he was on his way down to Beacon Hills.

There was no fucking way he’d look over the file alone.

*

Lydia almost didn’t recognize Stiles when she opened the door. He wore a suit, had designer sunglasses, and was sporting a full beard perfectly trimmed. He looked like a model and a professional spy all in one. She didn’t need to ask how he knew her new address. She was perfectly aware of how easily he could get that information. What threw her off was that he hadn’t said anything about coming. He always gave them a heads up when he was near the area or when he was coming down for a day or two to visit.

“Stiles! This is a pleasant surprise.”

He didn’t answer and headed for the panic room in her place. “I’ve cleared your schedule for the week and I know Parrish is in a police convention in San Diego.”

Lydia recognized a tremble in his voice and the slight shake of his hand. He closed the door after her. “What’s wrong.”

Stiles felt a hysterical laugh coming but held it off. “Derek’s alive. I know you’ll say it’s another delusion, but I’ll swear to you by my hands covered in his blood and his killers’ that I am not hallucinating. Not this time.”

Lydia took it for the serious statement it was. “Show me.”

They looked over the file for days. By the end of the fourth, they knew for sure the intel was real. Derek was alive.

Stiles had no idea how to react, how to feel.

According to the first date, Derek had been found shortly after the pack had buried him by agents 618 and 735. He didn’t have visible injuries, yet he’d been diagnosed with an unknown and untreatable form of amnesia. As he was almost feral most of the time, he had been relocated several times until a secluded location near the mountains turned out to be the best option so far. He had little contact with humans. The animals and mountains where he worked as a lumberjack calmed him down and kept him somewhat in control. Huge caution was advised when dealing with him. He was easily prompt to anger and had already endangered the lives of two veteran agents.

Six years had passed since that. Six years where Stiles had transformed himself into a killing machine. Six years he’d been suffering the death of his lover every waking moment. Six years his most beloved one had been completely alive. Stiles had no regrets nor discouragements in his present life other than Derek’s absence. And now he knew he was out there.

Rapidly, he conjured up his possibilities. The CIA X Division had far more rules and was harder than the regular CIA. The most explicit rule was: Once you’re in, you’re never out. Given this, Stiles had three options.

  * Pretend he never found the intel and keep working in CIA X as if nothing had changed, slowly making his way into the witness protection networking program and getting assigned to Derek’s case.
  * Fake his death and live near Derek until he triggered his memory.
  * See Derek once, confirm the circumstances described in the file pretending it was some kind of follow-up work and protect him within the CIA X forever.



The problem within option 1 was patience. There was no fucking way Stiles could wait for one more second to be next to Derek. Discarded for its impossibility. Option 2 had unknown success rates and unaccountable multiple variables to consider and rehearse before he could make the first contact. The flaws with 3 were plenty, but it fulfilled Stiles’ needs above all. Besides, after realizing number 3, he could follow up with number 1.

He was going with 3, supported by 1. Lydia agreed. He couldn’t tell the others until he’d assess the situation directly. Yeah, right. He just wanted Derek for himself for a while. Lydia promised, either way, to keep it a secret. He carefully but fast put contingency actions in place, such as pinging his location to Lydia’s in Beacon Hills no matter where he was if they called him in. He also called up his dad and confessed he might have found a way to be better someday, but he was still going to test it first. His dad’s encouragement pushed him to shave off completely the beard, put his things inside the random car he picked, and start the journey.

The trip to Derek’s location was nerve-wracking. The last time Stiles had been that nervous was when he asked the wolf out. Eventually, he got there, barely keeping himself from stopping twice to throw up and once to fight off a panic attack.

Derek’s handsome everything was worth the heart attack. He was as stunning and beautiful as always. He had a whole soft-looking beard and an open black-and-red plaid with no shirt beneath. He was playing the lumberjack part expertly, effortlessly cutting wood. The only difference was the lack of recognition in those intense eyes Stiles couldn’t, and never wanted to, stop dreaming about.

He gulped down, mentally rehearsed his made-up speech, and took some papers with him. He breathed deeply and walked closer to Derek.

“Evening, Mr. Hale. I’m agent 982.”

Derek’s eyebrows seemed confused but still arched mockingly. “First time?”

Stiles blushed, completely missing his meaning. “I- uh, what?” He was so not prepared for this. There wasn’t a countable time that could ever get him ready for seeing and talking with this gorgeous man again.

“First time seeing a werewolf up-close, agent 982?”

Derek thought this agent was something different. All the others, even when they were scared out of their minds, they had unbreakable poker-faces. This one… This one blushed and moved with his whole self.

Stiles snorted. “Not even close, dude. I mean, Mr. Hale.” He cringed and scratched his chin. It was itchy now that he had finally shaved. He tried to focus and read his supposed routine questions. “I- I’m here to check up on you, Mr. Hale.”

Stiles looked him up and down. No injuries visible, that was a given. Man, how he fucking missed those perfect and sweaty abs. He gulped and licked his lips, forcing himself to stop looking. He stared unseeingly at his papers. He looked damn good—an absolute improvement from the last time he’d seen his precious wolfman.

Derek’s nostrils flared. He was always being checked up and asked if his amnesia had healed on its own or if his control had somehow improved. They expected him to heal by communing with nature. It always angered him and, in a state of anger, he was never accountable for his actions. However, even when he was angry for another useless revision, he also caught the agent’s scent. He never caught the others’ scents. They used a blocker that drove him insane and prevented him from hunting them down.

This one, Derek suspected, was either badly trained or not supposed to be here. His scent was driving him crazy… but in a new, different way. It was full of want and eagerness for home—a home he had no idea nor way to know where it was. This scent was a start.

Derek rushed the agent and backed him up roughly against a tree. The instinct to both protect himself from possible unknown danger and to get closer to the scent until he could almost taste it made him move. The latter was stronger than the former. A realization that both confused and exasperated him.

Stiles could have gotten his modified Glock out the second Derek’s facial expression changed, but this was Derek. He could never harm him on purpose. Not even to protect himself. Even when his eyes were flashing their beautiful blue, he wasn’t the tiniest bit scared. How much he’d longed to stare into those eyes once more. The lack of fear made Derek scowl deeper.

“I could kill you right now and no one would know, would they? You’re not supposed to be here.”

Stiles bit his lip and decided to test the waters. Maybe he could trigger a memory. Maybe it would end up being a hopeless idea all along. “You’re a predator, not a killer.”

The phrase felt familiar to Derek and made him sure this man knew something. Something about him. They all gave him this feeling that they knew the state he’d been found before. Agent 982 made him feel known, like a person.

“And yeah… I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Why.”

Stiles smiled sadly. Derek’s questions that weren’t questions had always been a point of mockery and mimicry.

“You.”

They stared into each other’s eyes. That maelstrom of endless colors against dark honey deer-like eyes. Stiles would gladly look all day long but he was on the verge of throwing himself at Derek.

Stiles shook him off, made space between them, and started pacing. He was so so so not ready for this. He was dying to touch him and hold him close. Doing that would end up in kissing Derek when he evidently didn’t remember a thing. Which was both good and terrible, because his past sucked but Stiles wanted his wolf back. And even if Derek never remembered a thing, kissing when it was their supposed first meeting would probably be a bad first impression.

“Look. I- I saw your file and I thought maybe I could help or something. I definitely thought of something…” He cleared his throat. “And your handlers aren’t helping, are they?”

Derek wasn’t sure if agent 982 was either a really good liar or was telling a half-ass truth because his heartbeat was all over the place mixed with lust, melancholy, sadness, and nostalgia. Derek couldn’t figure him out.

“I could do something different? Maybe?” Stiles cringed. This was the worst way of convincing someone.

“Like what?” Derek crossed his arms. “Not covering your scent?”

Stiles facepalmed. Of course the other agents covered their scent. It was a basic rule in case things went south. The werewolf wouldn’t be able to track you. How could he forget it?

“It can help to have a scent that’s mixed with other creatures and people. Also, human scents pose no threat to werewolves.”

“That’s not why and we both know it. Don’t lie. Why are you really here.” In a flash, the hopeful thought returned. “Did you- do you know me? From before my accident.”

Stiles’ heartbeat started racing. If Derek had thought it was all over the place, now it was going at the speed of light. Anything he said now was fragile. Derek took a step forward, thinking the agent would maybe faint or try to run. However, before Stiles could come up with a plausible answer or just tell the truth, he got a call.

“Agent 982 here.”

His voice and demeanor changed abruptly. Derek got a glimpse of a tactical agent instead of the spastic mess of a man that had tried to approach him. He couldn’t help gulping down a wave of arousal. Another new development. It seemed he was attracted to men—or maybe just this man.

“I understand, sir. I’ll be back in the next flight on site and deal with the situation in the best way possible.”

Stiles’ disaster of a reunion with the not-dead love of his life was interrupted because a fucking werejaguar had gone bonkers. It was rather urgent as it was leaving a trail of hurt civilians. Stiles walked to the car knowing this wouldn’t be a one-time meeting. He’d be back as soon as he could, as often as he could. He’d keep coming even if Derek never remembered. Amnesiac Derek was better than No Derek.

“In your next evaluation, don’t tell them I came.”

Derek rolled his eyes and huffed. “That was a given,” he deadpanned.

Stiles smirked. “I wouldn’t know, given your amnesia and all, maybe you’d forgotten how the world works.”

Any other person saying that would have made Derek lash out. Instead, he snorted mildly irritated. He didn’t say but Derek knew he’d be back, that they’d see each other again. Until that time, he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about agent 982 and his enticing scent.

*

When Stiles stepped off the plane in New Mexico, he was pissed. He’d been briefed during the flight. The werejaguar had been identified as Katherine Argent.

Katherine. Fucking. Argent.

Stiles’ course of action usually involved containing the creature in the least lethal manner possible. Not this time. This sociopathic bitch was going down. And down she would stay.

Luckily, her past hunter days and body count were well recorded in the agency. It had also doubled since her transformation. She was classified as maniacal and dangerous. The suggested strategy was to proceed with extreme caution and eliminate the threat.

Stiles knew exactly how he wanted her dead. He sent a dozen snipers in a six-block perimeter and secured the area in mountain ash, leaving only one possible path for her to run to. A group of brave agents would both get her attention and force her right into Stiles’ path. He knew she’d go straight for him the second she laid eyes on him, falling for the bait. Her eyes almost glowed with glee. She slowed down and strolled toward him.

“Well, well, well. I never thought I’d see the day you’d leave that filthy pack behind.” He didn’t answer. They started circling each other. “Aw, did someone take your tongue? You used to be so much… louder and noisier. What changed? Was it dear Derbear’s death?”

He glared. He only had one gun on him, perfectly hidden within his gear—so that she wouldn’t be able to use it against him. How he itched to shoot her right then and there but she’d dodge. His gear though was fully laced with wolfsbane, as well as his brass knuckles and the concealed blades in his boots. Punches would be just as satisfying as shooting if it came to that.

When Kate threw herself at him, the snipers started shooting and more agents came out of hiding. They were supposed to trap her with a magnetic and electrified cage that may or may not had been altered to the highest voltage and may or may not kill her instantly and painfully.

“Do you know, darling, that I sent those hunters?” She taunted as she dodged and dropped agents to the ground.

Stiles’ blood went cold. Kate had just made a fatal mistake. As she thought him frozen to the spot and scared, she jumped at him once more but Stiles wasn’t the kid she remembered. He was fast, precise, and deadly now. And she’d awoken the dormant beast.

She choked on her snarl when he punched her teeth in. Her skin hissed and withered at the touch. She tried to retreat. Stiles didn’t let her. He threw a blade so sharp into her right foot that she was stuck to the ground. She lashed out, scratched his cheekbone, and kicked his side. He grunted—for sure, she had broken something—and continued undeterred. The bitch was not going to survive this. Stiles caught her next punch, kicked her knee in, and pulled her forward until his second blade was embedded into her chin all the way to her brain.

The agents around were both amazed and horrified. The werejaguar had been quick and brutal, yet agent 982 had surpassed her easily and ruthlessly. Her scream of pain had become gurgles of blood. He dropped her. The agents prepared to dash forward at his command and start the clean-up. Instead, he pulled a gun from his back and shot her. Twice in the head and thrice in the chest.

One for the Hale pack, one for Peter, and three for Derek.

He barely resisted the urge to empty his clip on her. When they were given the signal to clean-up, his colleagues congratulated him on a great take-down but wondered if he hadn’t overdone it a little.

“There’s no overkill with an SSS werejaguar.”

*

After been checked over at headquarters, it was confirmed one of his ribs was slightly fractured. Given that he still had 1 sick day left that was interrupted, his vacation was prolonged for the weekend. Starting Monday though, he’d be put on a desk for two more weeks while he recovered.

Stiles considered going and showering at his apartment. However, with the knowledge that the bitch who’d caused so much pain to his wolf was finally and truly dead, he wanted nothing more than see Derek.

He’d toyed with the idea of going back once or twice every month on his way to the mission location. Yet… he knew in his gut he wouldn’t be able to bear being away for so long. Especially now that he had a bit of time on his hands. No. He merely showered and changed into his back-up suit at headquarters and, on the next flight out, he was on his way to his dear werewolf.

*

Derek was marinating chicken when he heard the crunch of gravel under tires. His next scheduled evaluation was in a month and he doubted the attractive agent was back so soon. A day had barely passed from his visit. He washed his hands and went to the door.

Before reaching it, he recognized the heartbeat on the other side. He opened it hastily. The agent had a hand raised, poised to knock. He smiled at him, lowering his hand. It took Stiles’ breath away just to see him again—alive. This was a dream he never wanted to wake up from.

Derek suddenly frowned, grabbed him by the shirt, and shoved him against the wall. Stiles yelped and flailed. His hands landed on Derek’s shoulders. The wolf sniffed his hair and the side of his neck. The agent smelled hurt, relieved, and in pain, yet he could only see a claw-alike scratch. No other injuries in sight.

“You know,” he squeaked, “regular people say hi first or come on in. Did you become a hermit?” Derek was intently staring at his cheek. Right, the bitch had slashed a bit his face. Derek looked down. Clothes could hide things. The wolf ripped open his shirt. “Woah, hey! I liked this one!”

He zeroed in the bruise. It occupied half his side. He gently caressed the black-and-purple discoloration. Stiles inhaled sharply and bit his lip. Dear Lord, Derek’s hands were on him. Derek’s holy warm hands were on his skin. He shivered. It had been so long he could probably come from this alone. His dick was certainly awake and alert now.

“Who did this,” Derek growled.

The growl sent shivers down his spine—he was such a sucker for Derek. Stiles forced himself to focus. He remembered the elation of putting Kate down for good. He smirked with glee. “She’s dead. Don’t worry.”

Derek covered the bruise and shifted his hand a bit upwards. This time he didn’t miss Stiles’ gasp. It made him aware of the changes in his scent. His nose approached the dotted neck. Sure, he was still in pain but there was a strong spiciness to it. Arousal. The wolf noticed then the naked torso in front of him. The nipples begging for attention. The marked abs with a pointed V leading further down. The trail of hair down there, at the edge of the pants. The hot bulge straining the zipper. The hands on his shoulders trembling slightly.

Derek looked up into those pupil-blown honey eyes. His own glowed blue. The agent licked his lips and he stared down at them. They looked tasty and inviting. He definitely wanted to accept the invitation. Stiles breathed heavily. Derek was so close, within reach—tangible, real. He was having trouble reminding himself to reign in his need and desire to climb him like a tree.

“Der- Derek,” his voice wobbled.

A string of images struck the wolf’s head at the sound of his name. The agent with shorter hair, panting, smiling lips red and used, a different set of marks on his neck and chest—love bites—, a permanent blush on his cheeks, and a loving look in his eyes. Then the same agent with his head thrown back, eyes scrunched up close, mouth open emitting a long moan, his beautiful and dotted neck exposed to him—only him. Then again: the same stunning agent grinning on top of Derek’s nude chest, looking at him as if he were the most precious being in the entire world, mouthing… mouthing ‘I love you’.

Derek blinked and gulped. He’d been intimate with this man. The agent did know him. He had the answers he’d been searching for—the life he couldn’t remember.

“You do know me,” he mumbled, moving his thumb up and down, reassuring himself this man was real and a solution to his enigma.

Stiles bit his lip hard and forced himself to breathe slowly and think. His lust was quite subdued in a heartbeat and saturated by sadness. Derek’s eyes showed shock, confusion, a tiny gleam of hope but, mostly, a lack of recognition—a lack of love. He was basically a stranger in the wolf’s eyes. It was also obvious on Derek’s face that something had sprung free in his locked mind. In no way, he was remotely ready for Stiles to cling to him and beg to be fucked on every surface available. And maybe he never would be. He needed space—they both did. He grabbed his wrists and escaped his delicious closeness.

“Yes,” he admitted once he thought he could trust his voice again. He looked around the two-floor cabin. Living room and kitchen. He climbed the stairs and located the closet. “I’m stealing a shirt,” he announced before grabbing the first Henley he saw, shook off the jacket, tie, and ruined button-down shirt, and replaced it with the Henley. He sighed, comforted by Derek’s unchanged scent. Yet a second look around at the room and the cabin’s second floor made him sigh once more. He then looked down at the confining dress pants and his still aching dick—it hadn’t gotten the memo as fast as his heart. “Get a grip, Stiles,” he mumbled to himself.

When he came back down, Derek was cooking with a faraway gaze. Was he remembering something? Or trying to? At the couch’s creaking sound, his head snapped in Stiles’ direction. The wolf frowned.

“Stiles?” Stiles’ heart swelled but the wonderful moment was shattered by the wolf’s next words. “What is a Stiles?”

He ordered himself to calm the fuck down. Derek had only heard him speak to himself, not magically remembered him out of nowhere. “That’s me. My name.”

Derek frowned, frustrated at the familiarity of it and not knowing from where. He was about to ask if they’d been lovers when the agent’s stomach rumbled and he blushed.

“Would you like to eat? I’m almost done with this.”

“Yes, please,” he crossed his legs and scratched his neck. The blush didn’t seem to want to leave his face. He cleared his throat. “I may have forgotten to grab a bite before hopping on a plane.”

Derek didn’t answer. His wolf would’ve chastised him for it. Stiles sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. He needed to stop expecting him to behave as if it were his Derek. That way lied madness. This was a different Derek who had yet to learn everything about himself and his past. Stiles’ feelings and heart weren’t a priority.

Derek served the plates on the table and started eating without a peep. Stiles did the same. It was tough not to fill the silence like he used to or contain his happy moans at the delicious chicken parmesan but the wolf sported a serious frown—his thinking face. Stiles could and would hold back every bit of personality within him, as the training had taught him, if it helped in any way.

“We were lovers, weren’t we?”

Stiles choked. Derek passed him a glass of water. He swallowed quickly and licked his lips. Derek realized his eyes were quite expressive, full of surprise, his whole body as well. That seemed more… right than the stillness from before.

Stiles was so not expecting that. He cleared his throat and toyed with the food on his plate. “Yeah. Is that all you remember?”

Derek scowled at his plate. “It’s not remembering as such but more like… images, frozen moments. Your hair was…different.”

Stiles’ scratched his hair and breathed deeply. He couldn’t hope or have high expectations. Just because he kind of remembered they used to love one another physically, it didn’t mean he’d recover every instant or that he’d love him again, or that he’d like to continue their life together. Stiles needed to be realistic about this.

“Yeah. Back then I thought a buzzcut was fashionable,” he chuckled humorlessly. He had a buzzcut since his mom passed. Then it was convenient. Then werewolves happened and it grew because he forgot about it. Then Derek had taken a liking to it and he’d kept it. He should’ve known that but he didn’t. This was going to be both awesome and awful.

“Can you tell me? About me. Who was I, who I am. What happened to me.”

Stiles gulped down a wave of sadness and dread. Derek seemed taken aback again by the abrupt change in his scent. Stiles didn’t want to relive that day or be the one who reminded Derek of all he’d lost and endured. How much could or should he share anyway? Derek was starving for answers and Stiles had them. He could easily tell him. Would that actually help him remember or would it just be a story he heard about a past life? Was telling enough?

“I can,” Stiles looked him in the eye and agreed. “I know everything about you. Although I’m not sure if I should tell you or… or show you as well.” He bit his thumbnail, thinking this through. “Words may not be enough, no matter how true. Smells can obviously help far better than just my words.” He slapped his thighs, spread his hands on the table, and approached a little bit. “What do you say, Derek? Are you up for a trip?”

Another sudden change in scent. This time excited, happy, hopeful. The agent—scratch that, Stiles—was his only chance at getting his memory back and he was willing to help him. Derek smiled.

“Absolutely.”

“Okay, so here’s the plan.” He applauded, sprang up, and started pacing. “I will tell you everything. The good, the bad, the ugly, the wonderful. Fair warning: it’s going to be hard listening to some of this. Your life wasn’t… easy.” There was concern in Stiles’ eyes. “So, bear with me. I won’t lie to you. Ever. Once I’m done telling your life story, I’m going to leave.” Derek was about to protest but Stiles raised a hand. “You’ll need time to assimilate it. Maybe remember something, I don’t know. Nonetheless, I need to get permission for the trip.”

Derek scowled and crossed his arms. Trademark irritation crossing his features. He wanted to get this done now. “Why.”

He pointed out the reasons with his fingers. “One, I’m not supposed to know you’re alive. And two, I can’t just move you like that. They’ll drag both our asses back, keep us apart and we’ll achieve nothing.”

“And if they don’t give it,” he arched a defying eyebrow.

“Oh, they will, I promise,” he smirked confidently and Derek’s dick twitched. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

*

Derek thought hearing about his life wouldn’t be as hard as Stiles made it out to be. He was wrong. Dead wrong. He had needed to take several breaks. His life had been a sad, terrible shitshow. At times self-destructive, at times just miserable. Stiles had been understanding and patient with him, even when his scent had been broadcasting how much of a struggle it was for him each time Derek asked for clarification or needed to be reminded who was who.

His scent had turned sour and angry when he explained what had caused his amnesia. Stiles had said he was killed by hunters while protecting him. Derek had clenched his fists. Hunters. The agents had explained he was put in safe places away from hunters, for protection. It had left a foul taste in his mouth to know somebody wanted him dead because he was different. The story of his life apparently.

“After that,” Stiles had breathed deeply and continued, “I’m not sure what happened. To me, you were dead. Your file says you crawled out of your grave a week later but we were non-the-wiser. They made it look intact. Now, six years later, I found you. Alive. And here we are.”

Derek didn’t need his scent to tell him how happy he was about that piece of information. It had shown from the moment he appeared outside the cabin. At the moment, he was dropping agent Stiles at the airport to initiate the second part of the plan. The physical trip down memory lane.

“Go for a run once you get back,” he advised as he opened the door. Derek nodded and glared at the dying sun. After all, this man did know him better than himself. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

*

Stiles sagged against his seat in the plane. It had been exhausting telling Derek about his life and bad luck. Exhausting but necessary. It took the whole weekend and he’d taken it hard. Although Stiles had a front-row show for a lot of it, it was still a third-party narration for the wolf. He’d be drove mad if someone had to retell him how his mother died. Derek had taken it well despite all the horrors in his life. A true survivor.

Stiles smiled. As soon as the plane landed, he headed straight to headquarters. He had another one of Derek’s shirt on under his suit jacket, so some enhanced agents—as the supernatural creatures in the agency were called—turned their heads at him walking briskly to the director’s office. He had never had another person’s scent mingling with his.

Stiles knocked and could barely make himself wait for the director’s permission to enter the office.

“Agent 982, glad to have you back even if it’s on a desk,” he praised and shook his hand.

“I would love to say the same thing but I’d be lying,” Stiles settled in one of the two chairs. “I’d like to change assignments,” he stated before the director had to inquire why he was there.

The director arched an eyebrow. Agent 982 never asked for anything. This ought to be good. He signaled for him to continue.

“I want to be transferred to the supernatural witness protection network as the handler in case #09742.” The director stopped moving entirely. Agent 982 wasn’t supposed to know about either that department or his packmate’s status. Stiles smiled and clicked his tongue. “You see, I can tell by the tension in your body, I was never meant to have any involvement in this. I am your best field agent. Your best agent. Period. But I’m willing to overlook that and make you a deal.”

The director sat back and crossed his arms considering agent 982. He indeed was his best agent. The whole agency knew it. His calculative and strategic mind was a rare thing. On top of that, his fighting skills were top notch and he wasn’t scared of getting his hands dirty. His blood-muddied hands were the main reason he was scouted. His talents would be wasted in the witness protection network as a handler.

“What deal?”

“You won’t lose me completely to the department. I’ll stay on as a field agent as long as I am Derek Hale’s handler.” Stiles inched forward in his seat. “Current and past agents have absolutely failed to help him but I can. You know why I can.”

“And if I refuse?”

Stiles’ grin sent a cold shiver down the director’s spine. He thought he had an option here, how cute. “You’ll accept. You know very well what happens to those who get in my way.”

Minutes later, Stiles walked out of the office with a signed order and a spring in his step. He then proceeded to officially claim Derek’s file and commandeer a vehicle.

“Agent 982, wait!” Agent 347 came after him, the previous handler. Stiles stopped out of a sense of duty. “Who is your partner? The file recommends two agents at all times.”

“It was determined I can handle Mr. Hale on my own.”

“Determined by who? He’s always two steps away from being feral.”

Stiles inhaled deeply and toned down his annoyance. “By the director himself, agent 347. If you’ll excuse me, I have a werewolf to meet.”

Stiles tried to turn and leave but the agent grabbed his elbow. “At least let me accompany you to the first meeting. He can be… intense. And it is your first case.”

Stiles buttoned his blazer and stood tall. “Fine, but you’re taking your own car.”

*

Stiles had to wait a whole day for agent 347 to not only get a car but also permission from his other cases to accompany him. He held in his frustrated groan. He wanted to be back with Derek as soon as possible and this agent was slowing him down. He understood the protocols he had to follow and couldn’t skip what he was doing, but man, hurry up.

As they landed back in Derek’s near vicinity, he congratulated himself for not having to drive with him. Two unmarked cars awaited them at the parking lot.

“If you’ll follow me, sir,” agent 347 said as he climbed into his vehicle. Stiles nodded, having no choice but to pretend this was actually his first-time seeing Derek.

Stiles almost yawned at the speed he drove. Eventually, they got there. Derek was already outside waiting, having obviously heard the cars come up. He was glaring at agent 347.

“Good morning, Mr. Hale,” the agent said after descending from the car at a prudent distance. Stiles contained his eye roll and approached the werewolf. The agent’s warning for carefulness died on his lips—they couldn’t show distress in front of a mark.

“Hi, Mr. Hale, I’m agent 982, your new handler,” Stiles smiled, winked discreetly, and stretched his hand. Derek took it and it almost gave a heart attack to the other agent. It made him grin lopsidedly. The grin vanished when he realized he couldn’t smell Stiles’ scent. He growled low. The other agent gave a step forward. Stiles caressed his hand with his thumb.

“Bear with it a sec, Sourwolf,” he whispered.

Derek looked up at Stiles’ eyes, estranged at the nickname. He hadn’t told him about that. Was it new or old? He winked again, contained a sigh, and went to the other agent. Derek crossed his arms and focused on Stiles’ heartbeat—sure, confident, beating its usual-a-little-fast rhythm.

“Agent 347, thank you for the introduction. I can take it from here.”

“Are you sure, sir? He could be feral.”

Stiles pocketed his hands and glared at the agent, who was shocked and cowered slightly. “Did he attack us as we were coming up?” The agent shook his head. “Did he attack when we arrived?” Another headshake. “Is he shifted?” Another headshake. “Is he glaring at you with human eyes?” A nod. “Then, in your _experience_ ,” there was obvious sarcasm in his voice, “is he feral?”

“No, sir. He seems… fine.”

“Then, you are done here and may go back to your other cases. Thank you for showing me the way. Be on yours.”

“Yes, sir.” Agent 347 went back to his car and would vow to anyone in the future who would hear him that the fearless agent 982 was his new role model to follow. “Good luck, sir.”

Stiles nodded and waited until the car was out of sight to remove the necklace that suppressed his scent. Derek immediately appeared behind him and took a deep breath. He still wore his shirt. Their scents had mingled. Cinnamon with woods, sparks with earth. He liked it. A lot.

Stiles chuckled, turned, and patted Derek’s arm. “Down, boy. Are you packed?”

“No. Should I?”

Stiles bit his lip. “Not really. Beacon Hills isn’t more than five hours away.” He shrugged. “I just thought you may want to stay there. No biggie. We can come back for your stuff if that’s the case.” He walked toward the car. “Come on. We have a road trip ahead of us.”

*

They didn’t talk much on the road. Stiles put on music and sang along to it as he drove with one arm on the wheel and the other resting on the window. From time to time, he asked if Derek wanted to stop with a smile on his face. Derek always refused politely. He wanted to be there already. It filled him with childish excitement and expectation. Would seeing the locations help? Would Stiles’ recount of his life come alive inside his mind? Would he meet the pack? Would his brain be triggered and remember?

Soon, five hours had blown by. Stiles may or may not have driven faster than normal. He had been pondering where to take him first. The loft? The clinic? The pack? The old house? In the end, he chose to start with the woods. Let him detect and smell the pack and that earthy something unique to the town.

“First spot, come on,” he turned off the engine at the edge of the woods. Derek frowned confused but followed. The woods smelled different than those around the cabin. Other werewolves and creatures had passed through here. He told Stiles.

“Yeah, you taught the pack to always patrol the woods. Actually,” he stopped at random and turned in a full circle. “This is where we first met. Scott and I were looking for his inhaler. He’d already been bitten. And you appeared out of nowhere.” Derek frowned even more confused. He thought they’d met at school or something—Stiles had said he lurked—but why this random spot in the middle of trees? “And you said-”

“This is private property,” Derek finished for him. Stiles looked at him with big hopeful and surprised eyes.

“Yeah! That’s exactly what you said. Did you-”

“There’s a sign over there.” Derek stopped him before he even asked and regretted it at the sad turn in his scent. Stiles looked back and saw the sign.

“Oh, right. Of course. Didn’t see that, nor then nor now.” He scratched his chest and held his breath for a couple of beats. “Let’s keep going,” he grinned with tight lips.

Stiles led the way back to the car and then drove to another spot in the woods. He looked back at him as the woods became gravel and a path, then bit his lips as the house appeared. ‘House’ was a compliment, Derek thought and frowned at the place. It was burned and crumbling apart. Stiles stepped out of the car and the wolf followed. It even smelled old, decayed, and of a little booze.

“This is the Hale house.”

“I grew up here,” he stated disbelievingly.

“Yup, before it was burned down by a crazy bitch I killed not so long ago.”

“The one that left the bruise.” Stiles nodded. “You said her name was… Kate. Kate Argent.”

“I prefer sociopathic crazy bitch, but yeah,” he shrugged.

Derek analyzed the crippled house. It had been home at some point. “Why is it still like that? Isn’t it dangerous for humans?”

“Yeah. Cora was supposed to file some paperwork but didn’t. You still own it. The town can’t do much about it.” Derek’s was glowering at it; it was maybe prickling at his nose. “You had plans to renovate it. Tear it down and build something beautiful that’d have made your mom proud for you to call home. Maybe you could do that? Get your hands something to work on?”

“Maybe,” he cleared his throat. He sure wanted to get his hands on something—the agent by his side. “A project sounds… good.”

“Build your house, build yourself.” Stiles agreed. His phone vibrated in his pocket. Scott had finally answered his text. He had everyone gathered at his place. “Come on. Next stop.”

*

Derek wasn’t sure why Stiles was so nervous. Was the next location that important? To whom? Him or Stiles? This place seemed to be overflowing with stories and memories that were fresh on Stiles’ mind but not his. It was utterly exasperating. He wanted his scent to remain bubbly and happy, not a rollercoaster of sweet content, honeyed hope, and sour heartache.

They parked outside a two-story house. He could hear several heartbeats inside. The pack. He gulped down. Now, he was nervous too. Stiles opened the door without knocking. Ten people awaited in the living room. He didn’t recognize anyone. A guy with a crooked jaw stepped forward and embraced Stiles. Derek growled a low warning at him. He smiled it off. Stiles blushed.

“Derek, this is Scott.”

“Hi, man,” he stepped away from Stiles and nearer to him. “I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

“That makes two of us,” he stated and recalled how Stiles had defined him. His brother from another mother, his best friend, and the pack’s True Alpha. He looked at the rest and placed their names thanks to Stiles’ descriptions. Petite redhead genius banshee—Lydia Martin. Smug blue-eyed blonde werewolf—Jackson Whittemore. Worried blue-eyed curly Cherubin werewolf—Isaac Lahey. Serious hellhound—Jordan Parrish. Human brunette—Melissa McCall. Human sheriff—Noah Stilinski, Stiles’ dad. Petite Asian kitsune woman—Kira Yukimura. Blue-eyed werecoyote—Malia Tate. Petite brunette badass werewolf—Cora Hale.

His gaze stayed longer on her. “You’re my sister, right?” He checked with Stiles. Both of them nodded. She came forward and hugged him regardless of his disposition. Stiles had warned him in advance the pack were huggers.

“I will kill you myself next time you think of disappearing like that,” she grumbled. He felt touched. He couldn’t place her at all but her scent was comforting. He patted her back awkwardly.

“Noted.”

Isaac approached and hugged him too. “Does this help?”

Derek frowned. It didn’t. Not his memory at least. Yet he felt more at ease as if he was… home. He could feel the tethers of lost bonds attempting to reattach within his chest. His wolf could lower his hackles for the first time in months. These people, this pack, would have his back no matter what.

“A little,” he grinned at him. It opened the gates to the rest of the pack hugging him and pulling him into a puppy pile.

Stiles felt like crying. Maybe it was useless to try and jog his memory but he looked right at peace in the middle of those hugs. He stepped out into the backyard to control himself. He couldn’t break down. Not yet. Not until Derek was installed and ready to make himself a life with his pack, even if he never remembered their love.

“You ok, kiddo?” The sheriff asked from the door.

Stiles gulped and nodded. “I can handle it.”

“I know.” He stood by his side and caressed his hair. “You always find a solution to your problems.”

Stiles chuckled. It was humorless. “Do I? Don’t I just find more trouble?”

“A little of both since you were this high,” he pointed somewhere around his knee. This time there was humor in Stiles’ laugh.

*

The pack had insisted to have dinner together. Derek looked at Stiles for an answer. This was his itinerary. Stiles shrugged. They needed to eat and this company was more than welcomed. It’d certainly distract him from the fruitlessness of the trip.

Derek enjoyed the meal, watching them update one another on what they’ve been doing, where they worked and lived now. He felt included. Stiles smelled content and laughed. Despite the lack of returned memories, it was a good day.

When the food was eaten and over, Cora and Isaac volunteered to go with them to the loft. His apartment and core to many pack nights, survival, and research. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Certainly not Stiles choosing to stay downstairs.

“Why,” Derek asked frowning as they stepped out of the car.

“If I go everywhere with you, that stubborn brain of yours will just gobble up my words, laze around and not remember on its own. Besides, they lived here with you. Their insight will be better than mine. Trust me on this, ok?”

Derek suspected it wasn’t the whole truth but he let it be. After all, he did trust Stiles. Completely.

Stiles watched them go in, nodded at Cora and Isaac, and deflated against the wheel. The whole truth was he couldn’t go in there. There were too many memories for him. Memories that Derek didn’t possess. Happy memories. Loving memories. Stuff he had left out. Even though he admitted to Derek their relationship’s progress and status, he didn’t go into details. That would have hurt too much.

*

When Isaac opened the door to the left, he assumed it’d be empty. It wasn’t. There was minimum furniture, yes, but it wasn’t filled with dust and spiderwebs. It was clean. Like someone had taken care to maintain it and visited. He scented the air. There was a faint trail of Stiles. Had he been coming here after his death? He swallowed. A bit scared and sad of how deep Stiles’ feelings ran—feelings he couldn’t return at the moment.

“Why is there a bed in the corner?” he distracted himself.

“You gave me the room upstairs, so you slept there,” answered Isaac.

“When he moved out, you gave it to me,” Cora finished answering. They let him explore the place. Nothing stirred in his brain. “You could move it back up if you decide to stay. The place is yours—the whole building too.”

He nodded at her and went to the balcony. He could see Stiles against the car, toying with his keys. His need to remember had doubled than what it was at first. First, for himself. Now, for him. Stiles looked up as if sensing Derek was up there and waved. He waved back, then frowned. Something was coming fast at Stiles. Derek jumped down from the balcony.

*

Stiles waved at Derek and saw him frown at the tree line. He recognized the blur running at him. It stopped right in front of him. The claws were at his throat, the eyes glowed blue, the fangs smirked and Stiles had his gun aimed at the werewolf’s throat.

“Peter.”

“Stiles.” Derek landed and growled at the werewolf. He looked at him with a mocking eyebrow. “Is that any way to greet your favorite uncle?”

Cora and Isaac landed behind Derek and relaxed their stance.

“Uncle?” Derek asked confused and annoyed. The man was still threatening his Stiles.

“Derek, meet Peter Hale,” Stiles rolled his eyes and kneed the older werewolf, who chuckled and backed off. He walked, sheathed his gun, and stood next to Derek. Derek stepped forward and half-covered Stiles with his body.

“I see your instincts prevail. Not everything was lost then,” he smirked. Derek didn’t like him. Why was he his favorite uncle? More like only uncle left. And according to Stiles’ storytelling, the man wasn’t to either be trusted or underestimated.

“Shut up, Peter,” Cora rolled her eyes. “Don’t rile him up.”

“Fine, niece. It is good to see you alive, nephew.” Derek hmphed and narrowed his eyes. Peter raised his hands. “I come in peace. Stiles knows this, otherwise, he would have shot me before I even breathed the same space as him.”

“True,” Stiles whispered to inform his pack. Derek stood straighter and crossed his arms. He wasn’t letting his guard down.

“Is it safe to assume the Beacon Hill’s tour isn’t working?” he asked genuinely interested. Stiles clenched his jaw and nodded. “Mmm, shame. Good for you, then, that I have the solution.”

Stiles scowled. “Really,” sarcasm dripped from his voice. “What is it?”

“I’ll need an alpha’s claws to pry his memory free,” he flicked his own to show off and theatrics.

“For the eleventh time, you are not killing Scott nor ripping his claws off,” Stiles glared and crossed his arms.

Peter sighed dejected but well aware they wouldn’t ever allow him to be alpha again. “I can teach the boy the method.”

“Is it safe?” Stiles demanded. His wolf’s safety was the top priority, first and foremost, always and forever.

“Mostly.”

“I’ll investigate it first.” His phone started ringing. The number was blocked. Headquarters. “After I deal with this.”

He answered the phone and walked away. Peter grinned. Stiles could investigate all he wanted: Derek’s eyes showed a commitment to go through with it anyway.

*

Cora and Isaac were conversing with Derek when he finished his call. He was needed in Seattle right away for a mission. Peter was nowhere to be seen.

“I need to go,” he said feeling put upon and pocketing his phone. Couldn’t the director wait and give him a few more days with his wolf? “Vampire nest in Seattle,” he explained briefly. “Do you want me to take you back to the cabin?”

Derek looked back at the loft, at the two wolves giving them some distance for privacy. “No. I want to stay here. I feel more settled.”

Stiles beamed. “I was hoping you would say that.” He opened the car door. “I can bring back your clothes when I finish up in Seattle or someone in the pack can lend you a hand.”

He fastened his seat belt and Derek rested his arms in the window frame. “Stiles?” He hummed he was listening while he put the keys in the ignition. “What if I never remember?”

Stiles stopped breathing for a second. He had considered this. It didn’t mean he liked that possibility. He gulped down deep below his feels and locked them in a coffin.

“Then you create new memories, rebond with your pack or travel the world and find the new you.”

“Will the agency let me?” He scowled. He didn’t like them very much. They hadn’t been the tiniest bit helpful. They’d kept him apart from his pack, from Stiles.

“Yeah, they will. I’m your handler. As long as the log is updated now and then, my recommendations are law.”

“You would let me go?” Derek asked and stared into his eyes, boring into his soul.

Stiles dug his nails into the wheel. “Of course. If that’s what you want, why wouldn’t I? I would only ask you to stay in touch though. For the log.” His phone rang again. Stiles rolled his eyes and shrugged casually but his thunderous heart betrayed his uneasy feelings. “Duty calls. Later, dude.”

As Derek saw the car disappear around the corner, he made a decision. “Bring Peter back and call Scott here. We’re doing it.”

*

It took three nights to fully clear the vampire nest. First, he needed to separate the evil rogue ones from the ones just trying to survive. Then, he disposed without blinking of the evil ones. Then, it took a whole day to establish a trustworthy contact to supply bags of volunteered human blood to the survivors with good intentions.

He was more exhausted after the paperwork load than the actual hunting. He all but collapsed on Seattle’s motel bed on the fourth day. However, his phone rang. He groaned and rolled over to take out it of his suit, already prepared to curse at the poor agent calling him back in on this more than necessary day of rest. The curse died in his throat. Jackson was calling him. They never called each other. Instantly alert, he sat up. This had to be Derek-related.

“What happened?” he answered already throwing random clothes and ammunition into a bag.

“We tried Peter’s way. Derek’s in a coma.”

Stiles growled at the phone and loaded his Glock. “I am so killing him this time.”

*

In record time, he was on a flight landing on Beacon Hills. He couldn’t sleep on the plane. Too wired with what-ifs and what-happened and how-to-kill-Peter scenarios while researching as best he could among the clouds Peter’s infamous method. He almost hijacked a car and broke the speed limit but he was aware he’d had a maximum of six hours of sleep in the last four days. Instead, he overpaid a taxi and had her break the speed limit.

He even tipped her in gratitude as she parked outside Derek’s building. He ran up the stairs two at a time with his bag on his shoulder. Isaac had the door open waiting for him. He didn’t need to tell him where his wolf was.

“What happened?” he demanded in a whisper as he climbed up to the only room.

“It was going fine. Then Scott yelled in pain and Derek roared. He’s been asleep since. Scott woke up two days ago.”

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” Stiles turned to Isaac at Derek’s door and glared.

“He wanted to surprise you.” He looked full of concern for Stiles to chastise him, or anyone, about trusting in anything Peter said or did. Cora had probably already started taking a go at her uncle. Stiles exhaled and nodded, dismissing him.

Isaac left. Stiles turned back to the door and steeled himself for whatever awaited him behind it. He opened it slowly with the least amount of noise possible. Derek was lying on top of the sheets. He had pajama pants and nothing else. His chest rose and fell. Stiles breathed a little easier. He was alive. Still, he needed to make sure.

He put down his bag and tiptoed to Derek’s side. He almost checked his pulse on his neck but hesitated. If it hadn’t work, then touching his neck was too intimate. He looked down at his hand. The wrist would have to suffice. He kneeled next to the bed and pressed two fingers on his wrist. His skin was hot, its usual warmth. The pulse was steady. Stiles sighed relieved.

Perhaps they just needed to wait. Internet, the pack’s lore, and the agency’s data mentioned this method. He understood why the agency hadn’t tried it before. Not only was it meant to retrieve or suppress short memories—not a lifetime—but Derek wouldn’t let them anywhere near him, much less expose the back of his neck. It had been too much for both werewolves. That was probably what went wrong.

Stiles studied Derek’s sleeping face. He looked at peace. Without a care or worry in the world. Then he noticed some red spots behind his neck. Dried blood. His wounds were almost closed but still healing. Alpha wounds were slower to heal. He went to stand but Derek suddenly grabbed him.

He looked back alarmed and hopeful but his eyes remained closed. There was no change in his face or state. Why would it? Stiles’ presence hadn’t helped his memory, why would it wake him up from this slumber? Dejected, Stiles detached himself from the wolf’s grip and went for a wet towel. He dropped it when he came back into the room.

Derek’s eyes were open. Those gorgeous hazel eyes fixed upon him. He went back into action and rushed to his side as Derek tried to sit up.

“Hey, easy, easy. You might be a wolf but muscle numbness affects everybody.”

Derek said nothing. He just stared for a moment and then pulled him into his arms. Stiles crashed against him but held on tight. He didn’t even care at the moment if it worked or not. He was alive and awake. It was good progress.

“I’m sorry,” Derek croaked into his hair after a moment. Stiles’ stomach did a flip. Why was he apologizing? For doing dumb stuff? Because it didn’t work? Then, why were they hugging?

He gulped down and tried to disentangle them. “It’s fine. Just don’t do it again, ok?”

“No, no,” Derek didn’t let him get away or move an inch. “I’m sorry it took so long to come back to you.”

Stiles stopped breathing. His heart went into overdrive. His whole body shivered. Oh, God. That meant… That meant… It worked? Derek kissed his temple. It worked. It fucking worked.

“Derek, oh, god, Derek,” Stiles wrapped himself around him, and just breathed him in.

The tears he’d trapped in his heart since he found the file escaped free. Derek caressed his back as he let it all out. Then, Derek cleaned his tears and, finally, after six long excruciating years, he kissed him. With all the love and trials they’d survived, with all the need and urgency of being away.

After the first two gentle kisses, he pushed the blazer off his shoulders and ripped open his shirt. Stiles laughed against his lips. “You owe me two shirts now.”

“You can wear all of mine,” Derek mumbled, flipped them over, and kissed him again until neither could breathe or think straight.

They quickly disposed of their pants and underwear. Derek’s touch was everything, igniting every cell on his body. Stiles arched into his wolf as he rubbed them together. Marvelous as it was the brush of naked heads, it wasn’t enough for neither of them. Derek stretched over to the night table and pulled out lube. Stiles looked horny but confused as to why he had it at all.

“I was hopeful that even without our memories you’d take me back,” he explained with a shrug. Stiles beamed and kissed him on both cheeks before sucking on his lower lip.

Derek let more of his weight fall on Stiles and started opening him up. Stiles shuddered and moaned with his expert ministrations—so careful, so delicious, so him, so them. Combined fingering with love bites and kisses all over his neck and torso.

An eternity later, Stiles writhed and whined it was enough, that Derek could fuck him already. He complied. Both of them shuddered and gasped into each other’s mouth as Derek finally sunk within him, enjoying the feel of being joined and one once more.

“Mine,” Derek claimed before pulling out swiftly and thrusting hard back in with gusto.

“Fuck, yeah. All yours and you all mine.” Stiles moaned louder, holding on to the wolf he adored pounding into him.

Their frenzy love-making didn’t last long. Six long years without the touch of one another had accumulated and were given an out at last. Stiles’ moan echoed in the room and was followed by Derek’s lowly howling into his skin.

As they came down of their fevered high, Derek remained inside him and nuzzling his neck. Although Stiles was still panting and smiling, the embrace of his wolf was making him sleepy. He’d been on such a rollercoaster for days now that his eyes were closing on their own.

“Sleep,” whispered Derek.

“Mmm, no,” Stiles forced himself to blink. “I want to keep kissing you.”

The wolf grinned and gave in to his request for a moment, then exited him and rearranged their position until they were side by side, holding each other. He kissed his forehead. “Sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake.”

*

Stiles was surrounded in warmth, having the best rest he’d had in years, that was being interrupted by his hideous ringtone. The arms around him tightened as his eyes fluttered into wakefulness. Derek rubbed their noses together.

“Don’t answer,” he mumbled against his lips and let one of his hands trail down to grab Stiles’ ass.

Stiles gasped, laughed, and groaned at the same time. “I have to. It’s headquarters.”

Derek nibbled the side of his neck down to his collarbone. “Fuck’em.”

He moaned and gripped his wolf’s hair. “Mmm. I’d much rather fuck you.” He pulled him up by the hair and kissed him deeply. “Without interruptions,” he stated and disentangled them. His phone was ringing again, trapped in his pants, somewhere around the floor.

When he spotted it, he sat at the edge of the bed. Derek immediately draped himself over his back.

“Agent 982 here.” The wolf’s dick twitched against Stiles’ lower back. He liked him getting all professional.

“Agent 982,” Stiles rolled his eyes at the director’s voice. He knew what this was about. “You left Seattle’s base without returning to central headquarters or submitting your report with an update of the situation.”

“Yes, an emergency aroused in case #09742 that required immediate attention.” Derek’s hands traced Stiles’ newly toned abs. Stiles licked his lips. A second situation was emerging again that needed his undivided attention.

“It’s been a day, agent 982.”

“Rest is quite necessary, sir, to remain on top of everything. If I may so be excused, I’ll be back tomorrow.” He hung without waiting for an answer and turned to straddle his wolf and kiss the life out of him.

Derek prepped him again and had him sitting on his dick in record time. “I don’t want you to go,” he said before maneuvering him up and down his length, barely letting him catch a breather.

Stiles tried to answer, instead, he choked on moans and laughter. Derek’s pace wouldn’t let him form words—or remember others that weren’t God, fuck, or Derek’s name. His dick was being rubbed so deliciously on his wolf’s abs. He couldn’t think, only surrender his everything to Derek again and again. His moans turned into whines. It was too much and not enough. Then, Derek bit his neck with human teeth and Stiles went blind with bliss. His nails digging into the wolf’s shoulders pushed him to the edge as well.

Kissing his open lips, Derek fell backward on the bed, pulling Stiles along. Stiles focused on his strong heartbeat for a moment, then remembered the call. He propped himself on his chest.

“I don’t want to go either but I must. It’s my job, Sourwolf.” He caressed his displeased eyebrows and unfrowned them. “That’s not even the worst of it—it’s a job for life. I can’t exactly quit unless it's retirement or a body bag, and I’m pretty sure they’ll never let me go. I’m their best asset.”

Derek hummed thoughtfully. “Then, can you get me in?”

Stiles gaped. “You want to be a CIA-X agent?”

“I refuse to spend another second apart from you. If that means becoming an agent, so be it.”

Stiles beamed and blushed; his mind already at work on how to pitch it to headquarters—the successful story of a witness protection subject joining the cause and ranks. The director would eat it up. It’d give them good publicity in the underground workings of the supernatural world. He’d even go as far as to make him Stiles’ mentee and default partner—Stiles would certainly force their hands to make it so.

Afterword

The pitch was more than fruitful. Stiles and Derek went on to become the best team in the agency. In and out of the field.


End file.
